


He will never know (Dean/Sam; ficlet)

by Nina36



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 14:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nina36/pseuds/Nina36





	He will never know (Dean/Sam; ficlet)

He will never know. You swallow down the last of the hundreds days you have lived, the tuesdays…that wednesday…and each countless day after that.

He will never know that you held him, until the cops arrived, that you didn’t understand their words, at first, that a lifelong training as hunter eluded you, didn’t matter.

 

He will never know  you watched his body burn, your eyes fixed on the flames, painfully dry, your heart beating unnaturally calm in your chest. He will never know that for the first few days you couldn’t feel a damn thing, you kept staring into space, feeling his weight on your arms and the acrid smell of fire in your nostrils.

He will never know, you cannot tell him, that you spent weeks with your eyes open, in the dark, without really thinking, just breathing…existing…and it hurt.

You won’t tell him that you got up one morning and started hunting, looking for the Trickster, driving the Impala, sparing glances at the shotgun place next to you. You won’t tell him that you kept his jacket in your duffel bag, and his amulet in your pocket after a son of a bitch of demon clawed at your chest and ripped the cord…

He might like to know what you did to the demon, how he begged to be sent back to hell when you were done with him.

You won’t tell him that it was easy to breathe and function as long as you hunted, that you pushed yourself over and over, because troubles began when you had to lie in bed, alone, and it crushed you, every single day.

You won’t tell him that you listened to his tapes, every day, but didn’t sing…because if you allowed yourself to lower your guard, you could almost hear him sing.

You won’t tell him that you spent his birthday drunk out of your ass and husted pool and refused to fuck the nice blonde girl, who started sucking at your earlobe as soon as you were alone.

You won’t tell him that you stopped praying and started hating God.

You swallow down the images, the sounds, the tears you didn’t shed, the nightmares and the emptiness. Dean is here, now. He is alive. The trickster is right: he’s your weakness, he is your blood…he is your everything.

And you will save him, whatever it takes. And you can’t tell him.


End file.
